The Descent
by percy-potter-pond
Summary: In the beginning there was me and Mum and Dad and the twins. And talk about happy families, we were bountiful. But it came to pass that I started doing sins. And lo, that when all our problems began. Based on the book 'Grace' by Morris Gleitzman.
**Authors Note:** This story will start off based on Morris Gleitzman's 'Grace' and will follow the general theme of that story. It will, however, be a little darker than that story and probably more romance and stuff, I'll figure it out.

I've had this idea for a while like, what were the followers of Voldemort like when Harry wasn't with them? Did they all worship him? How did the pure-blooded brainwashing start?

 **Disclaimer:** The stuff here belongs to J. K. Rowling and Morris Gleitzman.

At first, I didn't know I was a sinner.

I knew I was probably a bit different from the way the other parents used to look at me and mutter things under their breath. Which was very kind of them. They didn't have to mutter.

But nobody ever accused me of having a sinful heart. Not until the night of our big party in our house. The one that turned into a disaster, not just because Mum set her hair on fire and Dad put too much chilli on the sausages.

It was a very important party for our family.

We were celebrating Uncle Ambrogio's big day. Earlier that morning Mum's brother had been made a Follower, which was as high up as high up as you could go in our society if you weren't the Dark Lord.

Our house was packed. All the other Followers were there, and their families. The wine was flowing and companionship was upon us all.

My brothers, Liam and Nico were doing a top job of organising games with the other kids. Everyone always said Liam and Nico were the most energetic four-year-old twins in our whole circle.

The first game was Theodore Nott In The Forbidden Forest. Liam and Nico were both Nott. The other kids were the many impure creatures that roamed the trees. Before they started, Liam reminded the impure creatures how in the story Theodore Nott had mega amounts of power, so the Dark Lord welcomed him.

"So no biting," said Liam to the creatures.

"Only waddling," said Nico.

"Scary animals don't waddle," snorted one of the kids.

"There are penguins in the forest," said Nico before starting to delve into the forbidden forest.

Soon most of the Followers had taken off their jackets and rolled up their sleeves, making the atmosphere comfortable. Uncle Ambrogio had even taken off his tie. It was a fun night.

At first.

I was handing around little entrees from France with my friend Pansy. But I could see her mind wasn't on the job. She kept turning her head, casting her gaze through the window and into the neighbours' gardens.

"You are so completely brave living here," said Pansy.

I knew why she was saying that. My family was a bit different in our society because we didn't live in the wizarding areas. Our neighbours were all outsiders. Our place was surrounded by the outside world.

"You are so not safe living in this place," said Pansy. "What if a muggle neighbour wants to borrow your soup pot?"

If I'd been as completely brave as she reckoned, I would have told her the truth. That we lent it.

But I didn't. Some of the Followers were listening. And they were looking almost as tense as Pansy. Our next door neighbour Mrs McIntosh had just exited her front door making her wind chimes jingle and everybody was keeping away from the high windows in case she saw them and they had to interact with an unclean muggle.

"Daphne."

I turned to see who was calling.

It was Grandfather. He was standing near the back door, frowning. I was surprised to see him looking grumpy today. This was meant to be a happy day for him. All morning he'd been getting heaps of congratulations for being Uncle Ambrogio's father. Plus earlier in the week the Dark Lord had spoken to him in person. They had a conversation and the Dark Lord told him the celebration dinner should be held at our place so he and Grandmother wouldn't have to worry about their paintings being improperly handled.

"Daphne, come here."

Grandfather was gesturing impatiently. He'd been a Follower for years and he was used to people doing what he said.

As I hurried over, I saw that Grandfather had somebody with him. Mr Giffard, who was a Follower too. Mr Giffard was holding a green folder.

I stared at the folder.

It was my school project.

Confusion came upon me. I'd left the project in a desk drawer in my room. How come Mr Giffard had it?

I realised what must have happened. Mr Giffard must have gone upstairs to use the bathroom and then must have decided to have a look around. Followers often did that when they visited houses to make sure people were obeying the rules. Poor Mr Giffard did it a lot now because he had so much spare time since his wife died.

I wondered if I should inform Mr Giffard that the long strands of hair he brushed over his bald patch had flopped down over one ear. It's probably what Mrs Giffard would have done.

But Grandfather didn't give me the chance.

"Daphne," he snapped, pointing to my project. "Did you do this?"

I hesitated. Not because I was planning to commint the sin of lying. Just because sometimes it's hard to get words out when a tall person is cross with you and you don't know why.

"Yes Grandfather," I said quietly. "It's my school project."

In the meeting that morning Grandfather had hugged Uncle Ambrogio and annouced that this was the happiest and proudest day of his life. He didn't look like it was now.

Mr Giffard was looking pretty annoyed too.

I didn't understand. This project was some of my best work. I'd spent all Saturday doing it. Dad reckoned I had a good chance of getting an Outstanding for it.

Suddenly I had a thought.

Perhaps Grandfather and Mr Giffard were cross about my untidy handwriting. Maybe they were annoyed because they couldn't read it.

"May I?" I said.

Politely, I took the folder from Mr Giffard and opened it.

"It's called The New Stories," I explained. "It's like all the stories I heard as a child except they have a new context and show how the other strains of belief and magic can be incorporated to make this society even better."

I waited for Grandfather to ask if I had included him in my stories, which it did. I'd been saving his chapters as a surprise.

Grandfather loved the stories of our society more than any other books in the world.

But Grandfather didn't seem to be feeling the same way about my project.

"Smoked salmon anyone?" said Dad, stepping between us with a platter of his homemade salmon entrée. "With dill or rosemary."

Grandfather gave Dad an angry glare. I wasn't sure if it was because Dad was interupting, or because he was wearing a Weird Sisters t-shirt when all the other men were wearing their dress robes. Or maybe it was because Dad had cooked dinner when in our society, only women or house elves did that.

"Some of her best work," said Dad, nodding towards my project. "Daphne, give them a quick reading from it."

I hesitated. From the look on Grandfather and Mr Giffard's faces I was starting to thing maybe I was wrong about them wanting to read my project.

But Dad gave me a big encouraging smile. Whenever he did that, I always glowed inside. It was like the feeling I got when I said my pledges at night.

I opened the folder and cleared my throat.

"Chapter Two," I read. "The Dark Lord has always been a symbol of power for the people's of our society but how long can we stand under the mounting pressure that is the Ministry's views? The answer is to combine our beliefs to make a peaceful world where no one had to choose. After all, neither side promote's violence. The process to this ultimate goal will be achieved by a number of steps beginning with –"

"Enough," snapped Grandfather.

I could see he definitely didn't like it.

I glanced at Uncle Ambrogio and the other guests.

Nobody seemed to like it, apart from Dad. Some of the elders were looking like they'd been slapped in the face by one of Mrs McIntosh's wind chimes.

Mr Giffard shook his head grimly.

"That child," he said to Dad, "is mocking the word of the Dark Lord. Look at her, so young and already learning the ways of sin. If I was her father I'd be ashamed of what is happening in her heart."

"Amen," muttered Grandfather.

I was shocked. Mr Giffard was known for exaggerating, but Grandfather wasn't. He knew my heart wasn't sinful or bad. Every Saturday we feed the strays in his backyard together.

"I'm sorry, Grandfather," I said. "I didn't mean to upset anybody. But I don't get it. Why is it mocking the Dark Lord to write helpful strategies for our society? About the good points and habits of other people? I don't think the Dark Lord minds that."

Grandfather and Mr Giffard were both scowling. I could see they didn't actually agree. But Dad had taught me to be true to my views.

"Actually I think he likes it," I said quietly.

"How dare you?" Mr Giffard hissed at me. "How dare you argue with our Lord's judgement?"

Dad stepped forward and looked Mr Giffard right in the eyes. The heat from the platter of food made the air shimmer between them.

"If your heart," said Dad to Mr Giffard, "was half as big as Daphne's you'd see what her project is really about. And you'd rejoice instead of making a kid feel small in front of her family and friends."

I wanted to hug him.

"And insulting her faith," Dad went on. "And destroying her self-confidence. And belittling her handwriting. And crushing her spirit."

"Actually," I whispered to Dad. "It's not quite that bad."

Mr Giffard put his face even closer to Dad's.

"And what do you think her so-called project is about?" said Mr Giffard.

"Same things as all the best bits of our society are about," he said. "Same thing as this society of ours _should_ be about."

Mr Giffard frowned.

"Love," said Dad.

The kitchen door banged and Mum hurried out from it, looking hassled. Behind her were Grandmother and the other women.

Mum stared anxiously at Dad and Mr Giffard, who were still face to face.

"Come on everybody," she said. "Let's eat. Mr Giffard, please, would you say a few words for us?"

Mr Giffard didn't even look at Mum. He just kept glaring at Dad, his breath whistling through his nostrils.

Mum gave a cry of alarm. But it wasn't about Dad and Mr Giffard. It was about the next lot of sausages, which had just burst into flames on the grill.

Mum leapt across the patio, pulling off her apron and swatting at the flames with it. The violent movements made a couple of her hairpins fall out. Her bun started to collapse. Wisps of her long hair tumbled down towards the burning meat.

Suddenly I saw flames climbing up one of the wisps.

People yelled. Mr Giffard called on our Lord's protection. I grabbed a glass of lemonade and threw it over Mum's head.

The burning hair hissed and the flames went out.

"Thanks, love," said Mum, wiping lemonade out of her eyes. As she pinned her other wisps back up, she muttered to herself.

"Bloody hair."

I was shocked.

Mum never swore.

But I knew how she felt. There were lots of good things about being in our society, but the rule about women and girls having long hair as a sign of obedience to the Dark Lord was a real pain.

Dad put his arm around Mum.

"Are you OK?" he said gently.

He dabbed her hair with his apron.

Mum nodded and they looked at each other for a moment. I could tell Mum knew that Dad had been standing up for me.

They both turned to the guests, who were all looking a bit stunned.

"Drama's over," said Mum. She put her arm round Uncle Ambrogio. "Let's get back to celebrating my big brother's special day."

"Help yourselves folks," said Dad. "We've got three types of meat now. Lamb, pork and charcoal."

"And penguin," said Liam, stabbing the air with his plastic sword.

While Liam and the other kids went on a hunt for penguins that might have been mocking the word of the Dark Lord, Nice came over and squinted up at me.

"Mum was on fire," he said. "Why was she?"

I explained it was just a little accident and things were OK now.

But for the rest of the afternoon I kept seeing Mr Giffard and Grandfather and Uncle Ambrogio and the other Followers talking in groups and throwing looks at me and Dad.

"You are so judged," Pansy said to me. "It's cause your Dad put too much chilli in the sauce."

I beheld that it probably wasn't.

And slowly I started to have a horrible feeling that things weren't OK.

 **Authors Note:** Hi! I would really appreciate a review just saying if you liked it or not, it's nice to get encouragement.


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